


Contact

by el3phantbird



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Bad Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Desk Sex, Everything is consensual they just don't have fun, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Lazy Mornings, Morning Cuddles, Revenge Sex, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-12 20:12:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16002446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3phantbird/pseuds/el3phantbird
Summary: Sometimes it's better to just go to bed.





	1. Chapter 1

It is four pm on a Wednesday. The air hangs thick and red like a blood clot. There are two dead bodies in the room- one leaning backwards in a chair, eyes to the ceiling, one on the floor. Both have bullet holes through their skulls.

Peko stares out at Fuyuhiko. He stares back. She’s covered in blood that is not her own, nor does it belong to either of the two bodies in the room. There’s a long trail of them, of bodies, leading to the door they shut on their way in. She took a detour into the dojo to dispatch her sensei while Fuyuhiko mowed down yakuza men like pests, but it was always this room, his father’s office, that was the goal. Peko came just in time to watch them die. They’re exhausted from their duel, but not too much to stand up straight and watch as Fuyuhiko put two bullets in his parents’ heads. One for his father, one for his mother. Efficient.

“What now?” he asks.

Peko doesn’t answer, at least at first. What now indeed. They really hadn’t thought this far ahead. They knew his parents had to die, her sensei, anyone that would object to Peko’s humanity, but the idea of freedom was so incomprehensible that they hadn’t decided what to do once it was reality.

She figures it out, though. What they can do now that they can do anything they want.

“Fuck me.” She answers plainly, simply. She isn’t even looking at him, instead gazing out at his father’s body. His jaw hangs dumbly open. The room smells disgusting, like bodily fluids and death.

Fuyuhiko is startled. He’s not even sure he’s heard her use that word before. “Wh-“

She looks over, gaze hard as the steel in her hands. “Why not? There’s nothing stopping us.”

He doesn’t have a counterargument, so he grabs Peko by the waist and kisses her with all the grace of a boy that’s just shot his father in the head. Peko, meanwhile, goes right to business, shoving her hand in his pants and wrapping her slender fingers around his cock. He sputters into the kiss, but she rests her other hand on his cheek and it calms him down. She doesn’t have the faintest idea what to do down there, but when she touches it a certain way it twitches, so she figures that must be a good sign and keep touching it like that. She feels her breasts pressed up against his chest, the way his dick hardens in their hand, his tongue awkwardly fumbling its way between her lips, and she’s overcome with nausea. If they were caught like this, she can only imagine the response. She would be killed; that much is certain. The only question is if she’d be given the privilege of doing it herself. She swallows down the nausea because that’s the _point_ , they won’t get caught. Everyone that could catch them is dead.

Peko responds to the fear by dragging him over to his father’s desk by the tie, kneeling, unbuttoning his pants, and yanking them down to his knees. Suddenly, she’s at eye level with his half-mast cock. He hoists her up by the armpits back on her feet.

“Get off your knees, Peko. No fucking way,” he says. The sentiment is appreciated, if misguided. She had no plans to suck his cock. The two of them have no purpose for a sex act that at one point might not have gotten Peko killed. There’s not much else she could do from down there, though, so she can see where he might have gotten the wrong idea. Maybe she’ll do it later, if she feels like it. _If she feels like it._ What a novel concept.

She hops onto the desk, kicks off her loafers, and raises her hips up, balancing on her hands. “Tights,” she breathes. He doesn’t need any further explanation, reaching up her skirt to pull off her tights and thong all at once. He peels them off and tosses them aside. She scoots further back on the desk and lies back, splaying her legs out. Fuyuhiko follows, moving awkwardly with his pants around his calves, but he manages, positioning himself between her spread legs. He makes eye contact with her. She nods. _Do it._

It takes three tries to get it in. Peko gasps when it finally happens. He lies on top of her, holding her by the shoulders and pushes into her with his hips. She pushes back against him in time.

It hurts.

She pants in times with Fuyuhiko’s thrusts, feeling her insides stretch around the intrusion of his dick. Immediately after they’d started, she’d been just wet enough for him to carefully maneuver inside her despite their clumsy hips, but after just a few minutes whatever natural lubricant her body had produced had given way to an unpleasant, almost sticky texture that made fucking feel more like dragging your bare forearm along a slightly condensed window. Judging by the way his brow furrows in concentration as he rides her, he’s having about as much fun as she is. Her head lolls off to one side, eyes focusing and unfocusing on a blood splatter on the wall. She can feel him losing steam inside of her, his rhythm going out of sync with hers.

He must be able to see the light fading out of her eyes, because he stops and asks, “You ok?”

“Don’t stop,” Pekoyama says, breath raspy and horse. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He responds by turning her head so she’s staring up into his eyes. She nods almost imperceptibly, and he goes in to kiss her. His tongue makes its way inside her mouth in the same way his cock did her entrance: clumsy, intrusive, something she makes room for. Their entire lives distilled into one intimate act. She digs her fingernails into the back of his skull and wraps her legs around his waist tightly, forcing him deeper into her despite the dull burn between her legs. Her body is begging her to stop this madness, but she won’t listen. Nothing will take this away from her, _nothing_.

When the kiss finally breaks, she keeps holding him in place, clutching his temples so hard she can feel his skin under her nails, pressing together their foreheads, hot and sticky with sweat and blood. She drinks in his breath, intoxicated by the sheer fact of this closeness. She can feel his breath on her face, hot and rough.

“Fuck…”

He says that word so much, it hardly even means anything, but now it sounds somehow intimate. He’s out of breath. Their hearts are pounding double time, a combination of exhilaration and adrenaline. There’s a frustration building just below Peko’s bellybutton, and it begs her to either make it stop or bear down harder. She does neither. Instead, she curls her head in the crook of Fuyuhiko’s shoulder and squeezes her eyes shut, inhaling deeply the smell of his sweat, his clothing, the blood that’s everywhere, god, it’s everywhere, she knew it’d be messy, she’s killed before, but somehow this stains deeper. It sinks in here, like blood and shit and death, she doesn’t care. There’s nothing that could bring her to care about anything but what’s happening between her legs, on top of her, what’s alternating kissing her and staring at her.

“You good?” he asks. She respond by nodding and squeezing his waist with her thighs. She’s adjusting to the feel of this hard intrusion inside her; her muscles are relaxing, at least. Her body is accepting that this is happening regardless of whether or not it wants to cooperate. No force on this earth could pry her off this boy right now. They’d have to kill her. They would, if he hadn’t killed them first.

She focuses hard on the sensation of it, the way her body rocks a bit every time he pushes into her, how her walls contract, how he’s getting just the slightest bit harder, the way his brow furrows and his cheeks flush, how sometimes he’ll gasp or shudder and lose his rhythm, how it takes him a few thrusts to get back to where he was. Maybe, somewhere deep down, she even feels a spark of pleasure, but it’s possible she imagined it. She loves him more than life itself.

“Fuyuhiko…” she breathes.

He groans in response.

Her head lolls back again, a lazy, misshapen smile settling across her face. She’s not used to saying his name, but it came out so naturally. She’s using so many muscles right now she had no idea she even had access to. His name, it’s beautiful, it sounds so right in her voice. “Fuyuhiko.” She’ll say it again. She’ll say it as much as she wants. She’ll run herself through with a sword before she lets the words _Young Master_ pass her lips again. She laughs, off from it, as if somehow saying his given name is a better indication of her freedom than getting fucked on his dead father’s desk while the still-warm corpse watches. It’s manic and off kilter; she doesn’t know how to laugh much better than she does have sex, but she’s doing it anyway.

Evidently, he likes it too, if the noise that he lets out is any evidence. “Say it again.”

She doesn’t have to be told twice. She doesn’t have to be told at all. She thrusts upwards, pushing back hard against him with her hips. It feels like he’s ripping her in half from the inside out. Her elbows press painfully into the hard, unforgiving mahogany of his father’s desk. She screams his name with as much power as is left in her lungs before collapsing beneath him. She grabs onto his face on her way back down, pulling him with her, and kisses him again greedily. She does this until she can’t hold him in place anymore, then lies back, breathless and spent. Her body has given all it can to this strange exercise. His breath is quickening, though, and this doesn’t finish until he does. That’s how this works. There’s an order to these things.

She holds him by the shoulders and breathes heavily, “Fuyuhiko, Fuyuhiko, Fuyuhiko,” panting her exhaustion into his collarbone as he groans. There’s a wild kind of euphoria to feeling him come. It might have given her a second wind if she was just a little less exhausted, but right now she’s using all her energy to hold still and not ruin everything by letting him slip out before he can finish. Again, she focuses on physical sensations. It keeps her in the moment. And besides, there’s so much to notice right now. Obviously, she knew the mechanics of sex, but she’d never given too much mind to the subtle details. She’d never imagined she’d be able to feel him twitch and grow harder as he approaches orgasm, feel the exact details of his arousal. She knows precisely how deep he is in when he comes by the sudden burst of hot liquid she feels and somehow, even though she’s below him taking it, she feels a power in the intimacy of the knowledge.

He rolls onto his side next to her, looking exhausted. The dull ache in her belly begins to fade. His semen leaks out of her and soaks into the fabric of her uniform skirt. Doesn’t matter. Just one more bodily fluid staining her clothing today, and frankly, one of the least offensive. They stare at each other, no more grounded or sure of themselves than they had been before subjecting themselves to this. Fucking was a momentary distraction and now it’s over and neither will admit that it didn’t really do anything to solve the problem except fill time.

“…What now?"


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight streams through the window of their tiny tropical hut. This twin bed isn’t made for two, but they’ve been making do. They’ve gotten very good at that by now. Besides, with the thick island air, they’re going to be hot and uncomfortable either way, so they might as well be pressed up against each other. They’ve found the most comfortable position for the limited space is spooning, Peko curled protectively around Fuyuhiko, holding him loosely. They often wake up with their fingers entwined.

The morning rays eventually wake them up. Peko wakes up first, as usual. She takes this time to watch him, feel his breath against her chest. She loves early mornings, quiet and serene. Sometimes he snores a bit, but this morning he just makes little whistling sounds. She presses her lips to the top of his head and holds him that way, breathing him in. There’s a part of her body that urges her to get up, do something productive like clean the kitchen or go for a run, but she pushes it back for now. With all they’ve been through, and all that’s yet to be done, she treasures these tiny moments of peace. Within a few hours, the two of them will be up and about, taking care of some of the endless work that’s needed to keep this remote island running and safe, the constant check ins with Foundation representatives to justify their continued existence here. There is always so much to do. However, it’s early. Her lover is still asleep. There will be plenty of time for work later.

Fuyuhiko follows shortly after Peko. He stretches like a cat when he wakes up, taking up more of the limited bed space than his small frame should allow for. Peko dutifully slides out of the way, hanging precariously off the edge of the bed while he stretches. It’s not an annoyance. She’ll slide back in place the moment he curls back in on himself.

He flops onto his back. Peko takes her place back on the bed. “Mornin’,” he grunts, the remnants of sleep slurring the word. A stream of golden light hits his face when he lies back. It’s beautiful, but it must be a bit too bright for him in his barely-awake state. He scrunches up his face in response and covers his eyes with his arm and makes a noise like an irritated puppy.

She lies on her side facing him, small smile on her face. All he is is a shape right now, everything blurry without her glasses. She would reach back and put them on, take in every hill and valley on his face, but the heat of the morning would only cause them to slip down her sweat-slick nose and annoy her. Besides, after a lifetime of studying, she has his topography memorized. Even blurry and unfocused, she knows how his outline adjusts when he smiles. “Good morning.”

He groans and kicks off the blankets, then reaches across her for the bottle of water on the nightstand. He drinks half of it down in a few greedy gulps. “Fuck, it’s hot.” He closes the water bottle and presses it to his forehead, hoping it’ll act like a makeshift ice pack and cool him down, but it’s lukewarm at best. “Like sleeping in someone’s sweaty-ass gym sock.”

“It is,” she says lightly.

He looks up at her and the sight of her smile, soft as the caress of the island breeze they so desperately need this morning. Despite the nearly unbearable heat, he welcomes the warmth of her with open arms and smiles back with the same calm energy. “You’re really beautiful, you know,” he says lazily.

She blushes. “What?”

He only smiles more when her skin flushes. It’s almost funny, how easily flustered she is. She’s the perfect warrior, efficient and strong. When she moves it’s as if she’s already thinking three steps in the future, everything she does colored with a breathtakingly precise sharpness. And yet all he has to do to trip her is call her beautiful. Even after all this time together, she doesn’t know how to react to it. It’s cute. “When you smile like that.”

“I’m all sweaty,” she counters.

He kisses her softly. Their skin sticks together. “So am I.”

She pulls him on top of her and kisses him back, cradling his face in her hands like the precious thing he is. They kiss again, each growing in intensity. He presses his tongue into her mouth and she accepts it gladly, raising her knees slightly and pressing his hips between them.

“Love you,” he breathes between kisses.

She closes her eyes and presses her forehead and nose into his. His breath is hot and sticky, mingling with the humidity in the air. Their t-shirts cling to their skin. “I love you too.”

“…Can I take your shirt off?” he asks after another moment of this and a brief hesitation.

She thinks about it. “Yes.” A pause. She smirks mischievously. “But only if I can take off yours.”

He pulls his own shirt off like it’s been lit on fire and flings it over the side of the bed. He grins at her boyishly and it’s all she can do not to laugh. He’s so eager. Then, he gently tugs the lower hem of her tank top up and over her head. Peko can’t help but feel the contrast in his movements when he touches her. He cradles her like she’s something precious, delicate. It should offend her, maybe, to be treated with such trepidation, but in reality it’s nice. Perhaps, she thinks, it’s because she’s never allowed herself to be fragile before, particularly around him, and there’s something lovely in the act of being cared for.

“You cheated,” she comments. Still, she raises her torso slightly off the mattress and twists to help him remove her clothes.

He shrugs. “Call me impatient.”

They kiss again. He snakes a hand between their bodies and lays it over one of her breasts. He strokes one nipple with one finger and caresses the soft skin with his thumb. She sighs breathily. She’s never been terribly vocal, so it’s these soft changes in her breathing he listens for, the sighs and tiny gasps that indicate his fingers have found purchase.

She sinks into the pillow and lets her eyes close. He’s so gentle with his hands, so careful, so attentive. He’s perfect. He puts such care into everything he does, be it touching her or his various island tasks, and she’s so happy to watch him work. Or, in this case, lie back and feel him work.

They really should get up soon, though. There really is a lot to do. A Future Foundation representative is calling in a few days and if they haven’t shown some progress there’ll be—

“Peko?”

She cracks her eyes open. The blurry form of Fuyuhiko is still over her, but he’s removed his hand from her breast. He sounds concerned.

“You good? You kinda stopped reacting and I…”

Oh.

“I’m sorry,” she says, embarrassed. “I’m a bit distracted.”

He rolls off her immediately and lies back into his side, watching her movements for any sign she may not be completely forthright. Every moment with her means watching carefully for those tiny changes in behavior. She’s so stoic, many would say emotionless, but he’s learned to find oceans in the smallest twitch of her face. She’s so expressive beneath it all, in ways no one else ever sees if only because they haven’t trained themselves to look like he has. Every ounce of knowledge he has, he’ll arm himself with to keep her safe.

“Everything ok? Did I do something?” he asks. He hates to think that he may have made her uncomfortable, crossed some line he hadn’t noticed, but the fact is it happens no matter how careful he is.

She thinks about it, just in case, but no, he’s the perfect gentleman. Her body just decided not to cooperate this time. She kisses his cheek lightly, a tiny act of reassurance. “No. I think I’m just not in the mood. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, seriously, you’re fine.”

She sits up in bed and turns so her legs hang off the edge. Fuyuhiko admires the way her back muscles flex as she stretches her arms out, then leans over to pick up the discarded tank top. She pulls it back over her head, puts on her glasses, and turns back to look at him. At one point, she might have felt some guilt for this, like she was rejecting him or disappointing him. It’s not true, of course it isn’t. Access to her body is something actively given every second of the interaction, not a permission she grants and revokes. He understands this, rolls with the ebb and flow with the grace of a dancer. (Which is funny- graceful is hardly the word to describe his loud, boisterous self.) Momentary pleasure is meaningless without her enthusiastic co-participation. He knows this. More importantly, she knows he knows. They remove the internal pressure to perform together, casting the weight off her shoulders and leaving it with all the other toxicities they’ve painstakingly cut out from between them.

She takes his hand. They have all the time in the world.

“Come on, love,” she says. “Let’s make breakfast.”


End file.
